


take my heart (clean apart if it helps yours beat)

by oopsabird



Category: DCU, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canon Compliant, Etta and Diana appear briefly but not enough to tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Missing Scene, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, not quite as morbidly depressing as the tags suggest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: This thought more than any other makes Sami’s heart twist in his chest; he wishes he could turn back time, lift the troubles from Charlie’s mind and give him the peace he deserves. Steve says this new mission of theirs could end the war, and while Sami isn’t quite naive enough to wholeheartedly believe this, he quietly hopes that it can be true, because he isn’t sure how much longer they can hold on otherwise.A small group of missing scenes from the last night in London before the mission.





	take my heart (clean apart if it helps yours beat)

**Author's Note:**

> what I wanted to do: write a new fic on time for my swap with robin  
> what I did instead: spent a month picking at other fics and starting eight new WIP's, then wrote this entire fic in two sittings over the last 12 hours
> 
> this is hella melancholy (I blame the fact that it rained all day), and also as might be expected it deals throughout with a character who has been drinking heavily and dealing (or rather, not dealing) with PTSD, so if reading that would be a hard time for you I don't recommend going any further
> 
> title is from [the song Two by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ST4Jq80MWFw), which I basically consider the penultimate song for this ship and have listened to every second day for the last month and a half
> 
> the fic starts essentially right where the pub scene in the movie ends and goes from there. the references to Charlie having injured his shoulder on a mission are a headcanon borrowed from my fic To Burn And Keep Quiet, but this fic is not connected to that 'verse in any other way

        Sir Patrick departs, and so their little party finishes their drinks and sketches out rough plans for the mission. A meeting time is set for the train station the next morning, and finally as the pub winds down Steve declares they should all go get themselves a good night’s sleep, as it will be a long busy day ahead of them tomorrow.

        As they begin to stand from the table, Sami beckons for Steve to come with him as he goes to pay his tab, leaving Charlie in his seat as Diana and Etta stand nearby and chat.

        “What’s up, Sami?” Steve says after they’ve paid. He leans on the bar and smiles, good-natured and ready to help as he has always been.

        “Steve, there is something you ought to know, from when you were gone,” Sami keeps his voice hushed as his eyes dart back to the table. “About Charlie.”

        Steve glances over too, to where the Scotsman sits lopsided in his chair, gazing rather vacantly up at Etta and Diana as he swirls the glass of scotch in his hand.

        “Go on,” Steve says quietly, his expression more serious as he redirects his attention to Sami in full.

        “Well,” Sami hesitates, in spite of himself. This isn’t his story to tell, not his place to do so, and he hates himself a little bit for the minor betrayal he’s about to commit. But they can’t do what they’re about to do, go where they’re about to go, without Steve knowing the full story. For safety’s sake, it has to be done.

        Steve must see the truth in his eyes, because he speaks in Sami’s stead. “It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?” He sounds very tired, suddenly, rubbing a hand over half of his face.

        Sami nods, shoulders drooping. “He’s been on medical leave, for his shoulder. It has healed but his mind is... it’s not any better. And after we thought you were dead...” Sami shakes his head. “He has been drinking more than ever, and I don’t think he is sleeping much at all. He doesn’t act like himself, he does reckless things-“

        “Like stealing drinks,” Steve says, realization dawning wide in his eyes.

        Sami nods, dragging a hand over his face and feeling very tired. “That, and picking fights he cannot win. He got very angry at me last time I tried to intervene, so now I just stand aside during the confrontations but... it’s not good, Steve.”

        “Can’t the army doctors help?”

        Sami shakes his head. “He will not go to them, and I’m not even sure that he should. They stopped diagnosing shell shock last year, too many soldiers leaving the battlefield. A valuable sniper like him, he’d either be declared mad and sent to an asylum, or worse - declared sane and sent back to the front lines.”

        Sami sighs, leaning heavily on the bar and pinching the bridge of his nose as he continues. “The leave for his shoulder was a lucky break, bought him a few weeks; now that it has healed it is only a matter of time before they try to send him out again, and...” he trails off, glancing over in Charlie’s direction and feeling the icy claws of fear digging themselves into his chest.

        Steve straightens to his full height, folding his arms and furrowing his brow as he realizes Sami’s unspoken point. “You don’t think he should come with us.”

        Sami grimaces. “I’m not sure it would be for the best, that is all. I am worried.”

        “About the mission, or about him?” Steve’s voice is firm, though he doesn’t say this unkindly.

        Sami’s eyes dart over to the table again, and from the way Steve’s face softens it seems that is answer enough.

        “Sameer, I know you’re concerned, we all are,” Steve sighs, arms dropping back to his sides. “But look, he said he can do it! Shouldn’t we take his word on that?”

        Sami shifts uneasily. “Should we? He is in denial, Steve; trying to pretend as if nothing has changed."

        “And if we say that it has changed, then what?” Steve counters. “If we tell him he can’t come on the mission because he’s a danger to himself, you really think that’ll go over well?”

        Sami knows that it won’t, and it is this which puts him between a rock and a hard place. Taking Charlie out into the field again will certainly be a risk - but rejecting him from the mission and then leaving him here alone in the aftermath of that might be worse. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Sami shakes his head.

        “Look,” Steve leans forward and puts a hand on Sami’s shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. “Do you still trust him?”

        “With my life.” Sami says it without hesitation, as he always has and hopes he always will.

        “Well so do I,” Steve says. “I called you guys up for this mission because there’s nobody I trust more to help me see it through. I know no matter what that both of you and Chief will have my back out there - and if Charlie needs it, we’ll have his; because that’s what friends do. Okay?”

        Sami is caught; he always forgets that for all that he himself is a master of words, Steve can be equally as persuasive when he wants to be.

        “Okay, fine,” Sami sighs, giving in. “You are right, it is better if he comes.”

        “That’s the spirit,” Steve says, clapping him on the shoulder before letting go. “Besides, I know we’re all gonna be fine, because you’re too much of a mother hen to let anything happen to us.” He grins, a flash of the big-hearted farmboy tucked behind the war-weary spy, and Sami knows Steve’s right. It’s his own protective streak that has made obeying Charlie’s request to stay out of the fights he picks so painful - Sami has always been a man who takes care of his friends, often above all else. Steve knows this, and has always taken it into account before; perhaps Sami should trust his judgement.

        “Of course I won’t,” Sami says, and pastes on a grin as he teases Steve. “I shall have to keep an eye on you especially - you must certainly be on your ninth life by now,  _jeune chat_.”

        Steve laughs, the mood lightening instantly as he does. “No way, it’s my eighth at best! That incident in Munich doesn’t count.”

        “Keep telling yourself that,” Sami chuckles, patting him on the back as they return to the group.

        Diana and Etta look up as they approach, though Charlie simply continues staring vaguely into the glass that hangs loosely in his hand, giving no indication he’s noticed their return.

        “Alright ladies,” Steve says, grabbing his coat and bag and gesturing towards the door. “Shall we go?”

        “Yes, I say we shall,” Etta says cheerily, as Diana nods. “Goodnight boys, and best of luck.” She will not be joining them at the station in the morning, and so for Sami and Charlie this is her goodbye.

        “Goodnight Etta, and good luck to you as well,” Sami says, smiling warmly at her. From his chair, Charlie gestures with his glass and mumbles his thanks, which Etta accepts with a polite, somewhat strained smile. She follows Diana and Steve out the door, chattering to him excitedly about the Amazonian military strategy tips Diana had been imparting to her moments before.

        Sami turns his attention to Charlie, who is still staring hazily at the place the others had just been, glass wavering in his hand. Sami sighs, and lays a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

        “Charlie,” he says, gentle but firm, leaning down a little to catch his attention.

        Charlie blinks as if startled and turns to look up at him, eyes wide and unfocused for a moment before recognition dawns and his face breaks into a lopsided smile.

        “‘lo Sami,” he slurs cheerfully, head lolling to one side. His blue eyes are bloodshot, and he’s more incoherent than he was earlier; Sami realizes with a pang of something like guilt that he doesn’t know exactly how many drinks Charlie has had this evening. From the tab he racked up, it was surely too many.

        “Hello,” Sami says, smiling back and knowing it won’t reach his eyes. “Time to go home, my friend.”

        “Oh,” Charlie says. “Alright.” He knocks back the rest of his drink before Sami can move to stop him, belching loudly before plunking the glass down on the table hard enough to startle himself. Sami puts his acting skills to use and pretends not to notice it all, stepping away to slip on his coat and don his straw boater hat from the table. Charlie’s overcoat he drapes over his arm for now as he returns to his friend’s chair.

        Charlie sees him coming, and braces his hands on the armrests to push himself up from the chair. Drunken vertigo overbalances him immediately and he pitches forward headfirst, eyes wide in surprise.  Sami moves quickly to catch him under the arms before he can hit the floor, propping Charlie back up on his feet.

        “Easy Charlie,” Sami murmurs, holding him steady. “Don’t want you to end up on the floor again, do we?”

        Charlie laughs, apparently finding this funny, and Sami only just manages not to pull a face at the stench of whiskey on his breath as he manhandles Charlie into his overcoat. Charlie allows him to do this without complaint, which is the surest possible sign so far of just how out of it he is. Any more sober than this, and he’d be griping and grumbling about being babied and insisting on doing it himself.

        “Come on,” Sami turns to stand by his side and sling Charlie’s arm over his shoulders, taking his weight. “Let’s go home.”

        They leave the pub and step out into the street; it is raining again, a fine mist falling down in sheets illuminated by the streetlights. The cold water seems to sober Charlie up somewhat, and when a cab arrives he detaches himself from Sami and climbs in of his own accord. He wedges himself into the far corner of the cabin and stays there silently the entire drive, slumped with his eyes shut and temple pressed to the cool glass of the window.

        Sami watches him, observing how some of the lines of anger and anxiety that mark Charlie's face have faded away; at rest, he looks years younger. This thought more than any other makes Sami’s heart twist in his chest; he wishes he could turn back time, lift the troubles from Charlie’s mind and give him the peace he deserves. Sami feels horribly sick of choosing between rocks and hard places, picking the path that will cause the least damage instead of doing no harm at all. More than that, he is as tired of pretending Charlie is okay as he is of pretending to be a good little tin soldier; he desperately wants his life back. He wants his best friend back.

        Steve says this new mission of theirs could end the war, and while Sami isn’t quite naive enough to wholeheartedly believe this, he quietly hopes that it can be true, because he isn’t sure how much longer they can hold on otherwise.

        When the cab pulls up in front of their tenement building Sami surfaces from his thoughts with a jolt, and upon looking closer realizes that Charlie has fallen asleep. He pays the cabbie and leans over to gently shake his friend awake.

        “Charlie, wake up,” Sami says softly, jostling his shoulder. “Wake up, we’re h-“

        Charlie’s eyes fly open with a gasp. He sits bolt upright, nearly bumping heads with Sami who jumps back in the seat. His wide eyes dart around the cab until they land on Sami’s face, and only then does he relax, hand dropping from where he had grabbed the sleeve of Sami’s coat in his panic.

        “Sorry,” Charlie mumbles thickly, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean t-“

        “It’s alright,” Sami says kindly, feeling the cabbie’s eyes on them in the rearview mirror. “Let’s go inside.”

        The rain has stopped when he climbs out of the cab and holds the door for Charlie, who makes it one step onto the curb before his still-drunk legs fail him and he has to grab Sami’s arm for support. Sami catches him without fail, closing the door and holding Charlie up as the cab drives away.

        He helps Charlie to the door, and guides him up the stairs to the second floor with a hand on the small of his back, letting Charlie lean on him as much as he needs and hardly saying a word.

        Despite his sleep in the car, Charlie is clearly still exhausted as well as not sober. He sags against the wall by their door and closes his eyes when Sami props him up there whilst fishing for the key. Sami takes him inside with Charlie’s arm slung over his shoulders again, fighting the effects of alcohol and sleep deprivation to maneuver them across the tiny parlour and down the cramped hallway to Charlie’s room.

        Inside, Sami clicks on the light and wrestles Charlie out of his coat, depositing him in a sitting position on the unmade single bed in the corner. He hangs the damp overcoat on the foot of the bed, and tells Charlie “I’ll be right back” before heading back out to their sad excuse for a kitchen.

        Hanging his own jackets and hat on one of the chairs, Sami loosens his collar and tie and takes down a mug with a chipped handle from the cupboard, letting the tap run for a moment before holding the cup under the stream.

        He braces the other hand on the edge of the sink and lets his eyes fall shut, suddenly immensely tired and feeling like this has been a very long day. The next two will surely be longer, and he dreads the early morning that tomorrow is going to require. In his experience only the good days in war ever go by quickly, few and far between as they may be.

        A cold sensation running over his knuckles alerts Sami that the mug is overflowing, and for a moment he simply stares at it blankly before his mind remembers to tell his other hand to turn off the tap. He pours out the excess and dries the outside of the mug with a dishtowel, then heads back down the hall.

        Charlie has fallen asleep again in his absence, slumped over sideways with his head on the pillow and both legs dangling over the edge of the bed. His boots are still on, and the angle doesn’t look at all comfortable. Sami sighs, setting the mug of water on the scuffed bedside table. He kneels and begins carefully unlacing Charlie’s boots, gently so as not to wake him.

        Sami gets both shoes untied quickly, without issue or any noise from Charlie. It is only as he’s slipping the second boot off that he glances up and sees to his surprise that Charlie is awake and watching him silently through half-shut eyes, an almost curious expression on his face.

        “Sorry if I woke you,” Sami says softly, tucking Charlie’s shoes out of the way under the bed where they won’t be tripped over in the morning.

        “s’alright,” Charlie mumbles, pulling his feet up onto the bed and rolling onto his side.

        “I got you some water, for the morning,” Sami stands and tugs the rumpled threadbare blankets up, gently arranging them to make sure Charlie is all covered. He rests his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, fixing him with a stern look. “Make sure you drink it, alright?”

        “‘kay Sami,” Charlie slurs, slowly giving up the fight to keep his eyes open. He smiles faintly. “Thanks... for ‘elping me.”

        Sami smiles back, squeezing his shoulder gently. “It is no trouble,  _mon cher ami_.”

        Charlie half-opens his eyes to gaze up at him, unfocused and smiling that lopsided smile.

        “Yer a good friend... good man,” he murmurs, patting limply at Sami’s hand with his own. “Kind, ‘n smart, ‘n brave.”

        Sami humours him, smiling back and crouching down to his eye level; Charlie is obviously still very drunk, not to mention half asleep.

        “Thank you Charlie,” Sami says, an unexpected hoarse edge to his voice. “That is very nice of you to say.”

        “Wish tha’ I wasmore... like you...” Charlie mumbles, his smile fading. He rolls over a little more, tucking half his face against the pillow and staring into the space beside Sami’s head, eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears. “Wish I was brave...”

        Sami’s heart clenches, and he moves his hand without thinking from Charlie’s shoulder to rest against his cheek.

        “You are,” Sami whispers, smiling softly as he brushes his thumb over a faint bruise on Charlie’s cheekbone. Charlie won’t remember any of this in the morning, anyway; the ghost of the smile returns to his face, and Sami considers it half a victory. “Things will be better soon, I promise.” 

        Sami knows all the proverbs about making promises you can’t keep, but right now he’ll say anything if it means Charlie might sleep more peacefully. In the end it will be just one more of the many lies he has told for some higher cause, and he is more than willing to bear that weight.

        Charlie seems to accept the comfort and the falsehood, closing his eyes and curling around his pillow as a semblance of peace creeps across his face once again. Sami stands, his hand shifting to linger on Charlie’s shoulder perhaps a moment longer than it should; it suddenly feels very difficult to tear himself away.

        Charlie shifts, leaning into Sami’s touch. “I love you,” he mumbles, so quietly that Sami almost doesn’t hear it over the rustle of the sheets - but he does.

        It sends a jolt straight through him like an electric shock, freezing him in place and setting his heart racing. Sami feels as if someone’s knocked the wind out of him, no air in his lungs with which to breathe.

        Charlie doesn’t react to having said it at all, lying still now with his eyes closed and drifting off to sleep.

        He didn’t mean it like that, Sami knows, tells himself firmly. He couldn’t. He doesn’t. Charlie is very tired and very, very drunk, and if he loves Sami at all it is as a friend; the friend who watches his back and pays half his rent and makes sure he doesn’t fall down and knock out his teeth on nights like this. Charlie was expressing his gratitude and appreciation for Sami’s kindness and platonic devotion, nothing more. Charlie didn’t mean it like that. That’s okay.

        Sami steps back from the bedside as if in a trance. He crosses the room and shuts off the light, closing the door without looking back. Mechanically, mind blank, he uses the washroom, shuts off the kitchen light, and retreats to his own room, leaving the door cracked open as always in case Charlie gets up and takes a fall in the night. Sami sets his alarm clock for far too early an hour, and sits down on his bed in the dark with the intent to take off his boots.

        Instead he just sits there and rests his chin on his folded hands, hearing the mumbled words echo over and over in his head.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

        Words that Sami thinks every day, speaking them silently over breakfasts and newspapers and arguments and dinners and drinks, cards and firefights and campfires and battlefields and afternoon tea. Every time he looks in those dark blue eyes. Every time he’s ever heard Charlie sing. Every time he watches him hurting and tries to reach out a helping hand. Every time he tells a joke, and Charlie is the only one who laughs. Every time Charlie hurts and cries, and Sami is the only one who sees.

_I love you._

        Words he has longed to hear Charlie say, knowing it was an impossibility.

_I love you,_

        But not that way.

        He can’t even allow the chance that Charlie might mean it that way, because Sami fears that if he allows himself to hope now when things are worse than ever, the pain of it might tear him apart.

        He had hoped that Charlie might be in love with him too, once. When they were younger and the war was newer and Charlie’s mind was still entirely his own, he had hoped, and he had waited. Then everything began to fall apart, Charlie included; he stopped opening up, stopped showing Sami what was in his heart. He drank so much it seemed like he wanted to stop feeling everything entirely, began putting up walls that kept everyone out. And now they are years down the road and the truth is that Sami has no idea how Charlie really feels; no idea how to break through on the days when he pushes everyone away.

        Worse, he has no idea if things really will get better any time soon, or if they will even get better at all. He has no idea how to help Charlie, no idea where to start. Worst of all, Sami has no idea whether he really will be able to keep him safe tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.

        He knows too that for all his exhaustion he could lie down tonight and not sleep a wink, as his heart ties itself in knots and his mind runs circles around itself in worry until he feels like throwing up.

_I love you._

        Sami presses his fingers over his mouth to stifle the sound of a sob, burying his head in his hands as he sits there and waits for the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> bonus points: go back and read that last scene of Sami alone in his room with [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNQu9rP7xwI) playing, as I did when I was writing/editing it. step two: feels. ~~step three: profit??????~~
> 
> also god, mental healthcare in 1918 was _so_ shitty, especially when it came to combat PTSD or "shell shock". you can read more about that as I did [here](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shell_shock) and [here](http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/worldwars/wwone/shellshock_01.shtml), but if you haven't done so before be prepared to feel both horridly sad and blindly enraged, because some of it was really truly horrendous
> 
> also also, not to criticize Steve Trevor, who I love dearly, but _wow_ his plan was a gamble, considering he didn't know the full extent of Diana's powers at the time. if he hadn't had Diana along I'm certain they would all be dead. oh Steve, you dear brave dead idiot
> 
> I suppose the upswing of this fic is that you could say it eventually has a happy ending, since less than 24 hours later everyone is happy and dancing in Veld and Sami gets to stand by Charlie's side and watch him sing again. so there is that. it's not all rainstorms and sadness. ~~except for the part where Steve fucking dies on them obviously~~
> 
> 39 WIP's/ideas and counting. as always, you can find me under the same username on tumblr


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